Chapter 2 - The Stolen Heir
I let go of Martin's collar and stumbled backward, my mind struggling to process the sheer gravity of his words.
I was already a father.
My son had been born in this cold, sterile prison while I was sitting in a boardroom across the country.
"Where are they?" I asked, my voice dropping to a dangerous, deadly whisper.
Martin leaned against the painted brick wall, wiping the sweat from his pale forehead.
"Your mother took the boy immediately after the delivery," he explained.
"She told Grace that a woman of her common background was entirely unfit to raise the heir to the Caldwell empire."
A surge of absolute, blinding rage washed over me.
I looked at the heavy hospital bed bolted to the bare floor.
It was made of solid steel tubing, and the bolts on the front legs looked rusted and old.
I grabbed the footboard with both hands, planting my feet firmly against the concrete floor.
"Help me move this," I ordered Martin.
He hesitated for a fraction of a second before rushing over to grab the opposite side.
We pulled with every ounce of strength we had, our muscles screaming as the rusted bolts began to groan in protest.
With a loud, violent crack, the bed frame tore free from the concrete floor.
I used the heavy steel leg as a battering ram, swinging it brutally against the door's electronic lock.
Sparks flew into the air as the plastic casing shattered, exposing the wires inside.
I kicked the heavy steel door open, the hinges screaming in protest as we spilled out into the dark hallway.
"We need to get to the security control room," I told Martin, helping him to his feet.
We ran down the corridor, the silence of the massive estate suddenly feeling like a trap waiting to be sprung.
May you like
As we reached the grand staircase, a laser sight suddenly painted a bright red dot directly on Martin's chest.
A silenced gunshot echoed through the foyer, and Martin collapsed violently against the marble floor.
